


Field of Memories

by lunaseemoony



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 00:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3402152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunaseemoony/pseuds/lunaseemoony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Doctor put Rose Tyler up on a pedestal, he carved not the visage of her mortal frame but rather an odd collage of all of the achievements, triumphs, flaws, loves, giggles, and brazenness that made her the sort of person that would laugh in the face of danger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Field of Memories

It began when he lost Rose. It was so easy to drown himself in adventure, smiles, and seeing the universe through fresh eyes. The latter was his favorite method, even though it always invariably reminded him of her. But at the end of the day, when the other inhabitants of the TARDIS were off observing the mortal ritual of sleeping, the Doctor observed his own.

During his search for a place to sit and think he'd found an uninhabited planet. It didn't even have a recorded name. Only a hundred years before his landing, the now vacant field he stepped out onto was the scene of a civil war. And yet the only remaining evidence of this was seen on the green pastures that were only just blemished with scant evidence left by plasma grenades. He could hear Rose telling him that the shallow craters the size of small cars added character to this place. To him, they were a reminder that no life could be free of the ravages of war, especially when life allowed for you to travel in time. Still, the field's imperfections didn't take away from the peace that it could offer him, he concluded. 

At first he just sat. The field was easily the size of London, stretching as far as the Doctor's weary eyes cared to look. He parked the TARDIS right in the middle of it. He sat, and leaned up against the side of his ship. There were no trees here, and maybe he liked it that way. He could see everything, and feel the support of his ship thrumming right up his spine. He was reminded on a regular basis that his ship felt just as passionately for her Bad Wolf as he did for his Rose. 

And then he cried, because that's just what he was expected to rise above. Time Lords couldn't cry. It was an unspoken rule, to not be brought down by such base emotions, which this surely was. All the more reason to let the tears flow. Such a renegade, he was. The entire field could have thrived off of the flood of grief from his weary eyes should it not rain for a year. Finally the thief himself had been robbed by the simple laws of the universe. Rules be damned, the Doctor was allowed to be angry, upset. And it was all for a mere mortal, a human. 

Oh, but if he was being honest, was Rose really just a human, after all that she'd done? For a brief moment she'd been so much more than just a human. She probably would have been the one to ask him if it truly mattered what species she was, less what planet she'd been born on, lesser still what time line she was born in. When the Doctor put Rose Tyler up on a pedestal, he carved not the visage of her mortal frame but rather an odd collage of all of the achievements, triumphs, flaws, loves, giggles, and brazenness that made her the sort of person that would laugh in the face of danger. Somewhere, at some point in time, the wild pink and yellow thing that he'd traveled with was still saving this universe. She was so alive. 

And it was this thought that brought the Doctor to his feet finally after a seemingly unmeasurable span of time. Somewhere out there, Rose was alive. And though one could say the same of this nearly infinite stretch of grass (oh how they'd loved apple grass) beneath his bare feet, it wasn't thriving in the way that his wild human always had. It needed fixing. It needed a caring touch. 

So he fixed it. So he added a caring touch. The Doctor flew back into the TARDIS, moved quickly by her encouraging and gentle hums through his grass-stained feet. When he stepped back out onto the empty field the sun was bearing down on him. But he wouldn't be brought down. The Doctor stepped up to one of the war-torn craters that pimpled the vast field and began to plant roses there. 

Yes, roses. And he would be the only one to appreciate the metaphor. He could hear Rose teasing him for the cliché. Surely the idea of it would make her angry. And maybe he liked it that way. Rose was awfully cute when she was angry. She wasn't here to stop him, and maybe in addition to making him sad, it made the Doctor a little bit angry too. 

The first crater of roses was for all of the adventures they had together. Good thing this one was a pretty wide crater. Not quite wide enough. Good thing he had plenty of seedlings. All in all, this notion took up three craters. They'd been so many places. These first roses were red. 

Next, he planted roses for all of the ways he found her beautiful. He turned quite a few craters counting all of the ways. Maybe the Doctor was the only one who saw Rose the way that he did, found beauty in the way that her brow arched when she was getting into mischief. He probably wasn't the only person to notice that her teeth looked so much whiter when she laughed, but he'd wager he appreciated it more than most. The way that her eyes turned a shade of dark amber when she was at both her angriest and most compassionate never ceased to melt his hearts. These roses were pink, in honor of the color her cheeks turned on the odd occasion that he witnessed her blushing. 

He planted yellow roses for all of their silly moments, the ones where they probably should have been serious. But of course those were some of the best times to be rude, and Rose was the worst (yet best) sort of enabler in this regard. It wasn't entirely one-sided, as the Doctor lost a good many wagers betting on that which he already knew the outcome to. 

If he planted a purple rose for every life that Rose had saved, he would be there for quite a while, and might possibly run out of space on this tiny little planet. Most likely. Definitely. So he planted one for every time she saved his life. Oh, and there were so many, many ways. The Doctor planted the first purple rose in honor of the first time she took his hand. Before he met her he'd been carrying his hearts on broken wings. Rose didn't always try to mend them. But when he felt her pulse through the back of her hand in his, he always thought that her heart was just strong enough to help carry his. And it was certainly wild enough to help him forget for a few minutes every now and then that he had an old (and damaged) soul. Rose did more than just warm his callousness. Her one little human heart at times burned so brightly that it could have been a star. 

He still had so many colors left. Of course he had to plant blue roses for how the TAR- 

“I thought you might want these next, so I went ahead and grabbed them from the greenhouse. You ran out of colors, Doctor.” The blonde girl standing in front of the TARDIS told him.

She was wearing her coveralls, the ones that were a skirt. She had sense enough to put shoes on, unlike him. She didn't complain about him not waking her as he might have expected her to. He would have told her that she wasn't missing much, that he didn't want to be scolded for moping around. Yet there she stood, holding just the pail of seedlings he was about to retrieve. It wouldn't be the first time he'd misjudged her, certainly not the last. 

“So I'm the Doctor now?” He stood up tall, with his dirt-covered hand planted on his grass-stained hip. “You sure about that?” 

She was never intimidated by him. Proof this time came in the form of her signature spurt of insufferably heartswarming giggles. “Daddy said you didn't like being called grandad.” 

The Doctor crouched down and rested his forearms on his knees. He furrowed his brow and put on his best scolding face. “Do I look like a grandad?” 

She pondered her answer. Diplomatic as ever. “You used to.” 

“That was when I was younger!” The Doctor exclaimed, scandalized. 

She grinned, even tucked her tongue between her teeth. “Exactly.” 

And before he could become just a bit cross with her, “Can I help?” 

She set down the metal pail containing seedlings just in time for him to scoop her up into his arms. It was perhaps a little cruel that this timorous beastie was just like her grandmother. She was no less tenacious for having the extra heart. Her two tiny little hearts beat just as wildly as Rose's did, and her chocolate amber eyes were just as radiant. If he believed in miracles in the same way that he did this child's namesake, she most certainly was one, just like her father and her uncles. 

Between Rose's three sons there were six beating hearts. The universe had somehow found a way to provide the Doctor with three little gifts that he could never properly thank Rose for. And true to her spirit, she never expected him to, because she saw them as a safety net. If the trio of young time lords did nothing else with their lives, their mother made it implicitly clear that they were to keep the Doctor company when she was gone. He couldn't be allowed to be alone. 

“Course you can help.” The Doctor released his five year old grandchild from a crushing hug. With a wide grin and a single tear streaking his freckled cheek he added, “I'd love help.” 

So the Doctor took Rose's hand, and together they made a new memory, a happy one.


End file.
